


boundaries

by LinguisticJubilee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Nightmares, Nonsense, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 14:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15121490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguisticJubilee/pseuds/LinguisticJubilee
Summary: Hank knows he should probably be embarrassed, but he threw his dignity away with the rest of the twentieth century, and he feels nothing but gratitude for Connor’s solid presence beside him.





	boundaries

_Hank races down the hospital hallway, dodging nurses as his heart beats furiously in panic.  A harsh ringing fills his ears, drowns out all sounds of life as he helplessly pushes forward.  The hallway stretches and contorts in front of him, and he speeds up even as a voice in his head tells him it’s useless, tells him he knows what he’ll find at the end of it.  He raises a clammy palm and slams open the swinging doors, hurls himself forward into the room and pulls back a white curtain._

_It’s not Cole._

_Connor’s lifeless eyes stare up at him, thick blue liquid oozing slowly from his ears._

_Horror seizes him, turning the air in his lungs to ice.  “Wake up!” Hank tries to yell, but no sound comes out.  He reaches out for Connor, only to see that his own hands are stained blue.  Bile clogs his throat. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t —_

“Hank!”

Strong hands grip his shoulders, yanking him forcefully onto his back.  Hank’s eyes snap open, and in the dark he can see Connor’s indicator light whirring bright yellow, illuminating his face.  “Hank!”

Hank sucks in deep breaths, trying to calm his heart rate.  He taps Connor unsteadily on the arm, and Connor releases him.  He sits up, running his hands through his damp, sweaty hair.

“Did you have a nightmare, Lieutenant?”

Hank nods, bowed over himself.

After studying Hank intently, Connor gets off the bed and walks out the room.  He returns a moment later and presses a glass of cool water into Hank’s hands.  “Drink this,” he commands, and Hank doesn’t argue.

The first shock of cold water clears his mind, and Hank takes another grateful gulp.  “Thanks,” he says into the glass.

“You were screaming,” Connor says.  “You screamed my name.”

Hank tries to shrug.  “You died.  God knows you’ve done it enough in real life, must’ve leaked into my subconscious.”

After a moment, Connor says, “Markus said something along those same lines.  He’s been researching android-created art…”

Hank lets him prattle on for a few minutes, sipping his water.  He’s only half-following along to the words, focusing instead on Connor’s steady, pleasant tone.  He lets Connor’s voice settle over him, keeping him anchored in the present.  His heart rate slows, and he finds himself relaxing into the mattress before coming to a realization.  “Connor,” he says, lowering the water glass onto the nightstand, “are you telling me a bedtime story?”

“Would you prefer a lullaby?” Connor asks innocently.

Hank squints at him, trying to detect if Connor’s fucking with him.  “How many lullabies do you know?”

“Four thousand, two hundred and sixty-one.  Would you like me to sing one for you?”

Hank laughs.  “Fuck, no.”

Connor nods. “Alright, then. As I was saying, Markus thinks that creativity is necessary for critical analysis, not the other way around...”

The next thing Hank knows, his phone alarm is chiming loudly. He reaches for it blindly until it shuts up.   He doesn’t remember setting it.  In the quiet he can hear breakfast sizzling in a pan and Connor talking to Sumo in a soft, affectionate voice.  

“Good fucking morning,” Hank murmurs, and drags himself out of bed.

***

A few nights later, Hank jolts awake to a hand stroking his face.  When he leans up on one elbow, he sees Connor perched on the side of his bed.

“Another nightmare, Lieutenant,”  he says as way of a greeting, handing him a glass of water.

“It wasn’t about you,” Hank says stupidly as he take the glass.  It hadn’t been. This time it had been about Joanne.  Hank doesn’t even know if his ex-wife is alive or dead, let alone in the state of Michigan, but in his dream she had turned up in the department’s morgue, just another homeless junkie found dead on a freezing winter night.

“I heard the change in your breathing pattern,” Connor answers the question Hank didn’t ask.  “Can you not wake yourself from a nightmare?”

Hank shakes his head.  “It’s like a part of me _knows_ it’s just a dream, but that doesn’t stop me from being trapped in it, living it over and over again.”  Hank glances at Connor and sees him staring intently, indicator light whirring blue to yellow and back again.  “What?”

Connor’s light turns blue and his face brightens into a smile.  “Do you know what a telenovela is, Lieutenant?  I just watched the most fascinating one about a young woman named Marisol who…”

***

Connor has become such an ever-present fixture in Hank’s life that when Hank wakes up in the middle of the night needing to pee, for a second he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with Connor standing motionless against the wall.  Then his conscious mind catches up to the rest of him and he groans. “What the fuck.”

In the blue light of his indicator, Hank could swear Connor looks almost guilty.  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.  Your waking surprised me.  I meant to leave before —”

Hank holds up one finger.  “Let me piss first.”

The harsh glare of the bathroom lights help to wake Hank up.  By the time he returns to the bedroom, he feels ready to have this absurd conversation.  “Alright,” he says, easing himself back onto the bed, “what the fuck?”

“You have nightmares,” Connor says, determined.  “They distress you, but you are unable to wake yourself up.  Therefore, it makes sense for me to monitor you so I can intervene should the need arise.”

Hank can feel a headache forming.  “So you thought you should just…stand there.”

“Yes.”

“For hours.”

“Yes.”

“With nothing better to do.”

“I can run routine system maintenance while still retaining partial awareness to track your breathing and heart rate.”

“Christ, Connor, don’t you ever get _bored_?”

Connor lifts his shoulder in an approximation of a shrug.  Hank notices with satisfaction that he’s wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants; Connor had initially resisted the idea of “sleep clothes” because he doesn’t sleep, but it just isn’t natural for a guy to wear dress pants for days at a time.  “I don’t get bored, Lieutenant.  I have felt impatient, even anxious, but not bored.”

Hank stares straight into Connor’s eyes.  “If I tell you to knock it off, you’re just gonna ignore me, aren’t you?”

“The changes in your breathing are harder to detect through a closed door, but I will be able to perceive the more drastic anomalies.”  When Hank just raises an eyebrow in response, Connor shrugs again and drops his gaze to the floor.  “Your nightmares hurt you, Hank.  You’re asking me to ignore it when you’re in pain and I...I won’t do that.”

Hank sighs deeply and flops down onto the pillow. “Alright, alright.  Get in.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Hank points to the empty side of the bed.  “Get in, Connor.  If you’re gonna be so stubborn about this, you might as well get in the bed.”

“Standing really doesn’t bother me, Lieutenant.”

“But it bothers the shit out of me.  If you’re gonna watch me when I sleep, Connor, you’re not gonna do it like a prison guard.”

Hank stares at the ceiling and pretends he doesn’t see the room glow yellow for a moment before Connor shuffles to lie on the bed next to him.

 _What the fuck has my life become?_ Hank thinks bleakly to himself.  When his brain unhelpfully tries to supply an answer, he takes the thought and buries it in a locked box in his brain called _Here Be Dragons, Asshole._   “Night, Connor,” he mumbles.

“Goodnight, Hank,” Connor says softly.

Hank grins to himself and slips off into sleep.

***

Hank still has nightmares.  He knows instinctively when a dream turns dark, but the terror barely has time to build before a hand is gently shaking him awake.  More often than not, Connor doesn’t pull his hand away after Hank wakes up, instead rubbing slow, reassuring circles into Hank’s back.

Now that they've openly acknowledged that they’re participating in this nonsense, Connor sometimes tells him true bedtime stories, narrating novels aloud while Hank makes snide comments.  Other times Connor will just ramble on about some confusing human observation he made until Hank falls back asleep. Hank knows he should probably be embarrassed, but he threw his dignity away with the rest of the twentieth century, and he feels nothing but gratitude for Connor’s solid presence beside him.

That is, until they’re in the station breakroom and Chris rides Hank’s balls about being too wound up and Connor counters with, “Actually, Officer Miller, Lieutenant Anderson masturbated in the shower this morning.”

The silence is deafening.

Chris’s mouth falls open and his eyes pop, like he would laugh if he weren’t too busy being shocked.  Several looky-loos gape at them in open astonishment, which is just _great_. Fucking perfect. 

Hank presses a hand to his temple, feeling another headache come on.  “Jesus, Connor, you can’t say shit like that.”

Connor turns to him, frowning.  “But, Lieutenant, we talk about ‘shit like that’ all the time.”

Fucking hell. “Yeah, but we don’t have normal boundaries, Connor! Jesus Christ.”

Connor still frowns at him, yellow light whirring. He turns to Chris and says, “Apologies, Officer Miller.”

“No,” Chris chokes out, grinning, “never apologize for that.  Ever.”

Connor looks back at Hank one more time before saying, “I’m going to take a second look at those case files.”

He leaves, and Hank stands for a moment in stunned silence.  Chris finally says, his voice soft with awe, “Hank, that robot is the greatest thing to ever happen to you.”

Hank sighs.

***

Connor is quiet on the way home. Hank sneaks a glance at him and sees him staring out the window.  “What you looking at?”

Connor turns to flash a brief smile at Hank.  “I like spring. I’ve never seen it before.” He turns back to the window.

That’s a good enough reason for being distant that Hank doesn’t question it for hours, until they’re sitting on the couch watching sports commentary, Sumo between them.  Something still feels off, but Connor seems happy enough, fully engrossed in the anchors’ conversation.  Hank realizes with a start that what’s missing is Connor hasn’t been looking at _him._ Hank’s gotten so used to the idiot openly staring at him that Connor acting respectful feels...weird.

Hank locks the thought away with a panic.  Christ, he has got to get his life under control.  He yawns obviously.  “I’m beat.  I gotta go to bed.”  He stands and walks a few feet, then turns when Connor doesn’t follow him.  “You, uh, coming?” Hank rubs a hand over the back of his head.

“I think I’m going to spend the night out here,” Connor says evenly, glancing up from the television.  “Good night, Lieutenant.”

Hank feels a flash of disappointment and locks that away too.  “Night, Connor.”

***

_Hank clings to the fence, helpless as he watches the android and the child dart through traffic on the highway.  He blinks and it’s Cole and Connor, holding hands as they run desperately for freedom.  He shakes the fence, crying out, but they can’t hear him over the rush of traffic.  Desperation burns at the back of his throat.  He needs to protect them, but he’s old and useless —_

Hank lurches awake and hears a voice whispering in his ear.  “I’m sorry, Hank, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  Arms hold him tightly across his middle. 

Hank reaches a hand up and it falls into Connor’s hair.  “Hey,” he says hoarsely, his heart beat pounding in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” Connor murmurs again, this time against his throat, and Hank realizes Connor is wrapped around him.

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry for.”

“I should’ve been here, I should’ve known —”

“Hey.” Hank strokes Connor’s hair.  “I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

Connor stills underneath his hand, and Hank realizes he fucked up.  “Of course,” Connor says stiffly.  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” Connor disentangles himself from Hank and sits up on the bed.

“Now hang on, I didn’t say it was unwelcome.”

Connor stares at the wall.  “You wanted boundaries.”

Hank laughs.  It probably sounds mean, but he can’t help himself.  “Why the fuck would you think that?”

“You did!” Connor says hotly, turning to stare at him.  “You said —”

“I said normal people have boundaries, Connor.  Are we normal? You lick things for science and I aided and abetted a robot revolution.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth twitches up for a moment before his expression sobers.  “If normal is not the goal, then what is?”

“Do we have to have a goal?” It comes out whinier than Hank wants, but it’s the middle of the night and his android is being idiotic.  “Can’t we just, I don’t know, sleep?”

Connor lies back down on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Hank is hit with a sudden, terrifying thought.  “Hey.” He props himself up on one elbow so he can stare into Connor’s face.  “You once told me you were programmed to adapt to humans.  Don’t...do that anymore, okay? Well, with people like Chris, please tone it down, for the love of God, you’re gonna give me a heart attack — but not with me.  Don’t do anything you don’t want to do when you’re with me, okay? Don’t censor yourself around me.  Ask me all your weird fucking personal questions, jabber on at me for fifteen minutes about some cute squirrel you saw.  Just be you.”

Connor looks at him, his gaze fond.  “Okay,” he says softly.

“Okay.” Hank sinks back down to the bed in relief.

“Do you ever want to get married?”

Hank snorts. He did fucking ask for it, after all.  “Did that once,” he says, closing his eyes.  “Didn’t take.”

“I mean to me.”

Hank’s eyes fly open. “What the _fuck_?”

Connor stares at him for a beat too long.  “Never mind,” he says, turning over. 

“Oh, no no no no no no.”  Hank sits up.  “This is my turn.  What the fuck made you think that?”

Connor doesn’t turn to look at him.  “A few weeks ago, we held a planning meeting for the android resistance on legal recognition of relationships.  You remember Kara, the AX400 deviant?”

“Yes,” Hank growls, his nightmare still fresh in his memory.

“The young girl is also an android, but for a while Kara believed she was human.  That led to a discussion.  Could an android become the legal guardian of a human child? Could a human adopt an android, rather than own one? Could an android marry a human? And that thought, naturally, led me to this.”

Hank gapes at Connor.  “We don’t...we don’t have that kind of relationship, Connor.”

Connor’s light flashes yellow briefly.  “We share a bed.  I cook you meals.  We go on vacation together.”

Fuck, Hank had forgotten.  They took a weekend trip to Canada to celebrate Connor’s first passport.  “We’re friends,” he says desperately.

“Then why is it a common wedding vow for one spouse-to-be to say they are marrying their best friend?”

Hank grounds the heels of his hands into his eyes.  “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

He feels Connor sit up beside him.  “Do you mean romance, Lieutenant? Do you want me to be romantic?”

Hank immediately locks that thought away in the box.  “Connor, for fuck’s —”

“Look at me, Hank.”  His voice is low, commanding.  Hank wrenches his hands away from his eyes.  “I don’t know what ‘pretty’ means.  I know that Cyberlife made me attractive to humans because that made it easier to establish trust and accomplish my mission.  I know that I, that Markus, that the Tracis, were designed to possess a quality that human genetics can only rarely, if ever, produce.  But I can’t stop staring at your face.”  Connor’s voice cracks.  “I have it memorized.  I can produce a 3D model with my mind.  And yet I don’t want to stop looking at you, because I might miss something new.  I could go the rest of my life and never get tired of looking at you.”

Something hot and dangerous sparks behind Hank’s eyes as his mental lockbox spills open, stunning him to silence with the force of it.

Connor smiles, soft and sad.  “I’m going to go, I think.”  He moves to leave, but Hank grabs his wrist.

“I thought I was being an idiot,” Hank chokes out.  “An emotional disaster, one step away from doodling hearts on my work notes.”

When Connor smiles this time, it’s warm and genuine, and something in Hank’s chest twists at spotting the difference.  “That could still be true.”

“Fuck off,” Hanks says, without heat.  Then he swallows.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he confesses, rushing to say everything he was too afraid to put into words, even to himself.  “You’re amazing, and brave, and a fucking lunatic who has completely upended my life.  I think about the future now, when I never used to before.  I wake up every morning grinning like a dumbass, and I pretend like I don’t know why but — it’s you.  It will always be you.”

Connor stares at him in surprise, and it should be a fucking crime that Connor doesn’t already know how special he is. “You called my face goofy.”

“I talk a lot of shit.”  Hank pulls gently on the wrist he’s still holding and draws Connor into a kiss.  It’s slow and soft and full of a sweetness Hank thought was lost to him years ago.

After a too-short moment, Connor pulls away.  “Oh,” he smirks.  “So _that’s_ why people do that.”

Hank laughs helplessly, letting his head fall onto Connor’s shoulder.  Then he yawns despite himself. 

“You need sleep.”  Connor pushes him down until they’re both lying flat against the mattress.  Hank goes willingly, not letting go of Connor.

They end up a tangle of limbs and blankets.  Tomorrow, Hank thinks, they’re gonna have a long fucking conversation about how soap operas are not appropriate relationship models, no matter how tempting it is to throw words like “marriage” around.  They’re gonna have to craft rules for what to tell Fowler and Chris and the others, because at this point Hank thinks he’s just as likely to blurt out something embarrassingly sappy as Connor is.  But for the moment, Hank lets himself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so -- I'm still not ready to come back from hiatus, but I wrote this to make my friends laugh and I thought I'd share it to make you laugh too. God bless this dumb dumb game.
> 
> All my love, as always, to Nia and Nicole.


End file.
